


Make It Right

by dreamlittleyo



Series: AlexandStar HamilTrek (Oneshots) [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Apologies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Feelings, M/M, Rank Disparity, Secret Relationship, alien possession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24565114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: A series of unrelated one-shots based on TOS episodes.This installment:Return to Tomorrow. In which Washington contends with the fallout of a faulty command decision.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington
Series: AlexandStar HamilTrek (Oneshots) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1051568
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Make It Right

When Washington returns to his quarters for the night, he’s not surprised to find Hamilton sprawled on top of his bed. Raw as he feels in this moment, the sight is equal parts balm and agitation. He spent the past hour hoping he would not find his quarters empty—needs the reassurance of Hamilton sleeping in his arms now that the crisis is behind them.

The sight of his boy, barefoot but still in uniform, churns up a firestorm of protectiveness with no outlet.

He locks the door and kicks his boots off—moves across the room with all the steadiness he can muster. Hamilton's eyes follow as he sits on the edge of the bed.

"Are you all right?" Washington asks, folding one leg up and leaning toward his boy. He wants to touch. He is desperate to reassure himself that they are both safe and alive and in possession of their own bodies. But he also knows that treading with caution is the better choice. Hamilton looks skittish and shaken, and Washington cannot blame him.

"We never should've agreed to cooperate with them," Hamilton says instead of answering the question. A soft sting of accusation laces the words, and Washington forces himself not to flinch beneath the truth of it. They _shouldn't_ have agreed to help Sargon and his people. Allowing their bodies to be borrowed by alien minds was never an acceptable risk, no matter the desire to protect a previously unknown form of life.

Yet Washington had made the call without a second thought.

Hamilton has called him naive plenty of times, and usually Washington rankles at the suggestion that he is too soft. Too optimistic. Too willing to accept the dream of an idealistic universe when reality is cruel. Usually Washington has counter arguments to defend his decisions.

In this there _is_ no defense, and he simply concedes, "You're right."

The look Hamilton gives him is so startled that Washington immediately feels guiltier. Then, even worse, Hamilton _moves_. He turns away onto his side, putting his back to Washington and curling in on himself, arms wrapping tight around his stomach when a shaky breath shudders through him.

" _Fuck_ ," Hamilton hisses, and that one word breaks Washington's heart.

"I'm sorry." He manages to sound calm despite the sudden tightness of his throat. "I'm so sorry, my boy. I should never have asked this of you. Of _anyone_. It was an unconscionable risk, and it nearly cost us everything." _Of course_ beings trapped formless and isolated for millennia couldn't be trusted to keep their word—would inevitably refuse to return the borrowed bodies—even once animatronic replacements could be constructed. Of course they would not relinquish a rediscovered world of touch and sensation, of physical intimacy, of _life_.

That Washington asked members of his crew—that he asked _Hamilton_ —to take the risk alongside him is a wrong he will carry for the rest of his life.

He reminds himself that Hamilton is alive. His entire crew is alive. All healthy, despite the close call. The fact that Hamilton has come tonight is proof forgiveness will follow eventually, though the time hasn't yet arrived. If the betrayal were insurmountable, there would be no force of gravity strong enough to summon Hamilton to these quarters. Hamilton would not have been waiting in this bed if his anger were the kind that couldn't be quenched. Washington has seen him immolate more than one friendship over stubborn principle. He honestly can't fathom why _this_ doesn't merit the same treatment, but he isn't about to question the undeserved reprieve.

Second chances are a precious commodity, and he will not squander what Hamilton is offering.

Despite the silence, he's certain Hamilton is crying—which leaves him sincerely shocked when Hamilton uncurls enough to glare over a skinny shoulder, clever eyes red but dry.

"How can you be so fucking calm about this?" Hamilton demands in a voice of molten steel. " _You_ were violated too."

Washington's breath hitches at the question—at the choice of words—and he stares down with overwhelmed emotion clogging his throat. The tidal wave makes it impossible to speak for several seconds, but Hamilton exhibits uncharacteristic patience. The silence extends. Washington breathes in. Out. He drinks in the sight of his boy safe and whole until at last he recovers his voice.

"My dear," he says softly, "please do not mistake my control for calm." Tension threads painfully through him and he resists a stronger urge to touch. For just a moment he relaxes his guard enough to let the true depth of his guilty, murderous rage reflect in his eyes. Honesty flashes more brightly than even Hamilton ever sees. Washington is always truthful with him—the quiet, secretive contours of their relationship would never survive a tour through deep space otherwise—but this is different. More. A dropping of the mask Washington _never_ sets aside.

"Jesus christ," Hamilton breathes, and rolls once more onto his back. "You're just as fucked up about it as I am."

Slowly, carefully, meticulously, Washington reassembles his unbreakable facade. He allows Hamilton to watch as he puts himself back together, piece by piece. It's an intangible comfort—hard to fathom it's a comfort at all—but it's the most powerful apology he can offer.

When he can say the words without screaming, Washington speaks. "It was a mistake. My poor judgment hurt you and nearly killed you, and it will not happen again."

"Hey." Hamilton sits up in a clumsy rush, grabbing the front of Washington's uniform. "I almost lost _you_ too, y'know." His eyes are fire as they glare into Washington's. The anger is still there, but it's been redirected. As usual Hamilton is subsuming his own needs, wounds, traumas into worrying for his captain. No matter how many times Washington tries to break him of the habit, Hamilton persists.

"What matters is that you're safe." He frames Hamilton's face between his hands. "And I'm sorry."

"Can I stay tonight?" The fact that Hamilton is _asking_ breaks Washington's heart all over again, because they have been past such etiquette for months. If Hamilton is asking permission to stay, he's on shaky emotional footing indeed. The damage runs deeper than Washington can hope to fix in one night.

But at least he can make a start.

"Of course you can stay," Washington says, and pulls his boy into a kiss.


End file.
